


The Dreaded Question

by YourRoyalFuckness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Fluffy Ending, Multi, Varric is here too, but only for a short bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourRoyalFuckness/pseuds/YourRoyalFuckness
Summary: The Inquisitor has lost his arm, and people want to know what happened. Too bad he really doesn't want to tell them.





	The Dreaded Question

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shyrstyne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shyrstyne).



> Written for a prompt about people reacting to the Inquisitor losing an arm. I may have channelled some of my natural sarcasm into this story.

“Inquisitor! What happened to your arm?”

The Tal-Vashoth warrior bit back a groan. All he wanted was a quiet drink in the tavern – or better yet, a not-so-quiet drink with the Chargers – but people would not stop asking him about his blasted arm. It had happened days ago, yet most of the Inquisition still had not heard – or just didn’t believe the stories until they saw for themselves.

Adaar cleared his throat and put on his best puzzled face. “My arm?” He glanced down at what remained of his left arm. “MY ARM!” Doing his best to look and sound panicked, Adaar slammed his tankard down on the table. “What happened to my arm?!?” The scout slowly backed away from the table, where the Chargers were howling with laughter at the Inquisitor’s antics.

Once they had calmed down some, the Chargers carried on drinking as if nothing had happened. It was for this reason that Adaar had chosen to drink with them; no matter how curious they might be, none of the Chargers would bother questioning him. And after being continuously stared at for the past few days, Adaar appreciated their discretion.

* * *

Dorian had joined them; Adaar wasn’t sure when exactly, but at some point, the soon-to-be Magister had settled onto Bull’s lap. The mage already knew what had happened and his presence helped deter curious others from approaching; a carefully arched eyebrow and condescending smirk sent most people on their way without words ever being exchanged.

However, there was one young solider, new to the Inquisition, who was apparently too callow or idiotic to be discouraged. Bold as brass, he walked right up to Adaar, stared the warrior straight in the eye, and asked, “What’s the story with your arm?”

A couple of the Chargers choked on their drinks. Dorian and Bull both made to intervene, but Adaar waved them off. He unhurriedly lowered his drink to the table and maintained unblinking eye contact with the soldier.

“Whatever are you talking about. My arm has always been like this,” the Inquisitor deadpanned.

The soldier appeared taken aback. “What – no it hasn’t!”

“Um…Yes. It. Has.” Adaar spoke slowly and carefully.

“No, it can’t have! You wield a greatsword! You need two hands for a greatsword!” The soldier sputtered indignantly.

“Bah! Look at all this muscle,” Adaar flexed his right arm. “You think this is just for show?” Bull and Krem started guffawing at the Inquisitor’s antics while Dorian rolled his eyes.

The soldier just gaped, blinking sluggishly at the table. “But…I saw you with two arms…you look so, so…lopsided now!”

Dorian tsked, “The Inquisitor looks just fine. After all, asymmetry is in now.” He nodded sagely, ignoring Bull’s laughter. “Now, please go away. You’ve interrupted our drinking.”

* * *

“It’s true!” A gaggle of children surrounded the Chargers’ table, all staring at the Inquisitor’s stump.

“Where did they come from?” Krem whispered to Dorian as Adaar slowly put his drink down. The mage shrugged, while the Tal-Vashoth blinked blankly as one of the braver children poked the stump.

“How did it happen? Our parents won’t tell us nothing!” A different child spoke up from the back of the group, eagerly pushing forward to be closer to the Inquisitor.

“Uh. Bears. So many bears,” Adaar shuddered dramatically. “Don’t wander away from your parents, kids.” The entire gaggle gasped and vehemently promised everyone at the table that they would never dream of wandering away from their parents, before leaving the tavern as mysteriously as they appeared. The Chargers exchanged confused glances before shrugging and drinking some more.

* * *

“Ugh.”

The distinctive snort of disgust broke through Adaar’s drunken haze. He turned around, beaming innocently at the unimpressed look Cassandra was giving him. “Yesh, my dearesht love?” After hours of drinking, the Tal-Vashoth was having some minor problems enunciating.

Cassandra rolled her eyes at his pathetic attempt at flirting. “You should be resting, not spending your days drinking!”

“But reshting ish boring!” Adaar pouted. “Drinking ish fun!”

“You lost an arm!” Cassandra struggled to keep her voice down. “You need time to recover, to learn how to fight again.” Her expression softened as Adaar grew more withdrawn with each word she spoke. Successfully keeping her voice low, Cassandra leaned in. “Are you…okay?”

The Inquisitor blinked, then grinned goofily. “You softie! You’re concerned about me!”

All previous softness was masked with irritation. “Of course I’m concerned about you! How can you hope to fight with only one arm?”

Bull finally chimed in, despite having been obviously eavesdropping the entire time. “Bah! Give him to me Seeker, and I’ll get him buff enough to wield that greatsword of his one-handed!” Krem and the other Chargers cheered at his idea; Adaar appeared to deliberate rather hard before nodding vehemently. Dorian and Cassandra shook their heads and muttered to each other about the idiocy of their boyfriends.

Adaar grabbed Cassandra’s hand and pulled her onto his lap. “One more drink, then we’ll go?” He asked, endeavouring and failing to whisper.

She rolled her eyes even as she stole his tankard. “Fine. One drink.”

* * *

An hour-ish later, they were still in the tavern. After one drink, Cassandra had grabbed her own chair, but did not force Adaar to leave. Varric had joined the group not long afterwards. No one had asked about the Inquisitor’s arm for hours.

He should have known it was too good to last.

“Why won’t you tell anyone what happened to your arm?” This time, it was a healer who vocalised the dreaded question. 

The Tal-Vashoth groaned and slammed his head down. Voice somewhat muffled by the table, he responded, “Because Cassandra doesn’t want people to know about it.”

The healer’s head snapped back and forth between the two of them; the Seeker glared at him. “What?” The two women asked in unison.

“I took a blow protecting her. She doesn’t want it spread around.” Adaar shrugged even as Cassandra kicked him under the table.

“That’s it. We’re leaving.” The Seeker hauled the Inquisitor out of the tavern to raucous laughter, especially from Varric (who was the only one still sober enough to remember this in detail).

Cassandra did not let go of Adaar’s hand until they were ensconced in his chambers. She stood there for a minute before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”


End file.
